


To Pray Without Words

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bonding, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Gabriel answers Dean’s prayer at the end of “My Bloody Valentine” and agrees to help cure Sam of his demon blood addiction (sexily). The brothers fight a big bad, and this convinces Gabriel to join their cause. Angelic brotherly bonding a bonus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Pray Without Words

_Pray, v. To ask that the laws of the universe be annulled on behalf of a single petitioner, confessedly unworthy._ ~Ambrose Bierce, _The Devil's Dictionary_ , 1911   


  


~*~

  


**I.**   


“Please,” he hears Dean Winchester whisper. “I can't... I need some help. Please?”   


The hunter stands in the junkyard, staring up at an inky sky, begging for divine intervention.   


Normally, he’d get a kick out of this, but the strained quality in Dean’s voice makes Gabriel pause. Dean’s breaking point is miles beyond most people’s. But it looks like Dean’s breaking now—he’s raw and pathetic.   


That’s not what sways Gabriel, though.   


It’s Castiel that makes the decision for him. His younger brother is hidden in the shadows, never far from Dean but not yet announcing his presence. His expression is one of pure agony. Like Castiel would help Dean in a heartbeat, but he can’t; he couldn’t even if he wasn’t losing his Grace a little more every day—it’s slipping like grains of sand between fingertips, and Gabriel can feel it.   


Castiel is all but fallen, now.   


_You can’t fight destiny._   


Aw, fuck that. He’s never been one for grand plans (other than his own). He’s always preferred to improvise, go off-script.   


Besides, it could be interesting, even fun to have Dean Winchester owe him one.   


So with a click of his fingers, he makes his physical form visible. “You called?”   


Dean starts. “You…”   


“Hi, Dean. Nice night.” Gabriel smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.   


“What are you doing here, Gabriel?” Castiel’s voice takes on that low, gruff bark that comes out whenever he’s feeling protective of Dean, which is most of the time, these days.   


“Bro,” he acknowledges. “Just in the neighborhood. Heard Dean’s prayer. Figured I could offer my assistance.”   


“No thanks,” Dean says immediately.   


“What assistance?” Cas asks at the same time.   


He shrugs. “I’m pretty sure I can’t stop the apocalypse entirely. But I got the feeling you were asking for a more _personal_ miracle.” He eyes Dean for a second. “…I can help Sam purge the demon blood from his system.”   


“Yeah?” Dean growls, wiping his wet cheek with the sleeve of his jacket, angry at having been caught in a weak moment. “How? And more importantly, why?”   


Gabriel purses his lips. “The how is a bit complicated. I suppose it would suffice to say… I put some of my blood in him, and it flushes the demon blood out.”   


Dean gapes. “What, like angel-dialysis?”   


He nods. “Almost exactly. A few treatments, and then you won’t have to lock your little brother up in the basement like Boo Radley.”   


There’s a crease permanently marked in Dean Winchester’s forehead of late. Gabriel watches it deepen as Dean mutters darkly, “What’s the catch?”   


He pauses, looking at Castiel.   


Quietly, the angel says, “There are incalculable side effects. It is very rare for angels to take vessels, and even rarer still to share… their bodies, let alone their blood.”   


“Forbidden, normally,” Gabriel says cheerfully.   


Dean glances at Castiel and tucks that information away. “So, you think it would be kosher this time, why?”   


He sighs. “I dunno. It’s the End of Days? Figure if anybody up there cares, they can probably make an exception this one time. And if not, well, I already broke enough commandments to get the rulebook thrown at me; what’s one more?” Gabriel tries for levity but bitterness tinges his words.   


“Uh huh.” Dean looks completely put off; he turns to start walking back to the house.   


“Why would you suddenly put yourself at risk?” Castiel wonders, his eyes locked on Gabriel. It’s obvious he’s tracking Dean’s every step, though.   


When the hunter reaches Castiel’s side, he stops but doesn’t turn around. So, Dean’s at least curious…   


Gabriel realizes that he has to get this right—has to strike just the right tone, find the right pitch. He knew it would be a tough sell, but…   


“Thought a lot about what you said. What Sam said. About being a coward.” He swallows. “I’m not saying I agree with your plan. I think it would be easier if you both just said yes to the inevitable and got it over with.”   


Dean’s shoulders tense.   


“But you won’t,” he continues. “You’ll hold out as long as you can, at least. And… I guess I admire that about you.” That isn’t as difficult to admit as he’d thought.   


Castiel cocks his head. “You mean to say you’ve decided to help Sam… because you respect him?”   


“Little bit, yeah. I get him, I do. Kid had special powers that most people couldn’t understand. Ran away from home, from the family business. Made some bad decisions but tried to do the right thing. Let’s just say… I can relate.” He scuffs his shoes together, a nervous habit.   


Castiel just nods.   


“Sam’s tenacious,” Gabriel says suddenly, grinning. “He was tenacious in Mystery Spot. Like a dog with a bone. It drove me craaaazy. But then I realized, as long as he believes there’s something worth fighting for, he’ll keep on fighting.”   


Dean turns around. “See, I don’t get it. You’re just gonna let him suck your blood because you’ve got a new-found case of hero worship or something?” He glares. “I’m not gonna ask again: What’s. the. catch?”   


In the sliver of a heartbeat, Gabriel’s right up in Dean’s space, menacing enough that Castiel twitches, even if Dean does not.   


“First of all, I don’t hero worship anybody. That’s _his_ bag,” he says, pointing to Castiel. “And second, what I’m saying is that you, Dean, may fight when all hope is lost, just because you’re a stubborn son of a bitch. Because that’s _your_ nature. Sam needs to believe there’s some chance, some hope… for good. Again, I. can. relate. So I’m willing to help. If…”   


Dean grimaces.   


“If you give me a reason to.”   


For long moments, the only sound in the junkyard is that of distant tree frogs. When Dean next speaks, his vocal chords sound splintered. “You want to make some sort of deal with me, for Sam?”   


Gabriel frowns. Normally, he’d jump at that idea—snatch at the opportunity to have Dean over a barrel. But…   


“Gabriel,” Castiel says sharply.   


“Ya know what?” Dean folds his arms. “I’ve been there; I’ve done that; and let me tell you, it worked out great! I’m not doing it again. Shove your deal; we’ll figure this out on our own.”   


Shrugging, Gabriel steps back. “Fine. But the longer you leave him like that, the weaker he’ll get.”   


“He’s made it through this crap before, but your concern is so touc—”   


“I meant weak to Lucifer. Did you know Lucifer’s haunting Sam’s dreams? It’s only a matter of time before he finds Sam, sigils or no.”   


Dean goes slack jawed. _“What?”_   


“Didn’t tell you, huh?” He glances at his brother, because surely Castiel has to know that much.   


Castiel steps forward. “Just as I was able to visit you in a dreamscape, so would Lucifer have that power. He is still an angel, after all.”   


Dean chokes on the fact that Sam’s still keeping things from him, and Gabriel waits until he swallows everything down. When Dean stops working his jaw, Gabriel declares, “I can clean Sam up. Keep him strong enough to fight. I can shield his dreams. It won’t be easy, but I have all of my Grace, and I am pretty sure I can do it.”   


Breathing out in an obvious effort to calm himself, Dean looks Gabriel square in the eyes. “‘Pretty sure?’ You better be really sure. And I’m not saying I’m agreeing to this—I’m just saying… what do you want in return?”   


“Dean…” Castiel reaches out to touch Dean’s shoulder but his hand pauses in mid-air.   


“No, Cas! He can at least stop being a dick and just put it on the table for us. What do you want? Me to say yes to Michael? What?”   


Gabriel shakes his head. “No. I want you to… give me a reason to fight. If you’re not going to play your roles, show me what alternative you think there can be.”   


The two men in front of him just frown, bewildered.   


“I want you to be worthy, Dean. Give me some hope. For humanity. I want you and Sam to… do what you’ve always done. But not be such dumbasses about it.”   


“What does that even mean?” Dean raises his arms, agitated.   


“I think it means,” Castiel says gently, “that Gabriel is considering becoming our ally against Hell and maybe even Heaven. Provided you and Sam don’t… aren’t… provided the choices you make…” Castiel flounders.   


“Provided you don’t predictably martyr yourselves or get obsessed with revenge. If you’re going to win, it’s time for a new playbook,” Gabriel insists.   


Pinching the bridge of his nose, the hunter closes his eyes for a minute. “This is so not what I had in mind when I came out here,” Dean murmurs.   


Castiel bows his head, clearly ashamed that he can’t offer what Gabriel is, but with no strings attached. The thought makes Gabriel bristle a bit.   


“So, look, I don’t really need your permission or anything,” Gabriel tells Dean, “but, the… treatments… will take a while. Need to be spread out over several days. That means you’ll have to put up with me popping in once in a while. More often than that, if you want help with the dreams. I know we aren’t BFFs, but, you think you can put up with me? Think you can trust Sam with me? Because I’d rather not have you bitching and moaning all the time…”   


The look Dean shoots him could probably melt the flesh of a lesser Archangel.   


“Hey, better putting up with me than the Devil, right?”   


Dean seems to be pondering it.   


Castiel finally does touch Dean, curling his hand over Dean’s shoulder in a gesture that screams of intimacy. “We would welcome your assistance, if you are sincere. But Gabriel, so help me—if you are playing another one of your tricks on these boys…”   


He lifts an eyebrow, curious. “You’ll what?”   


“I won’t need my Grace to make you pay.”   


Gabriel slowly smiles. “Wow, Cas. You found your spine.” He laughs. “Yes, yes, duly noted—you will kick my ass if I renege. Got it. Now…” He fixes Dean with a calm stare. “Are you on board?”   


There’s a long moment when the elder Winchester examines him for the slightest trace of deceit.   


Castiel breaks the silence, whispering to Dean, “It would appear no other offer of aid is coming… And he’s the only one I know of with the power to help Sam.”   


Still looking skeptical, Dean nods once. “Fine. Understood. Just… just fix Sammy.”   


Gabriel nods and pops out of the junkyard, materializing into the panic room.   


~*~

  


  


  


**II.**   


The panic room is cold and dimly lit. Not that Gabriel expected it to resemble something out of _Better Homes and Gardens_ , but… it’s pretty bleak.   


Sam looks simply wrecked. He’s caked in sweat, shivering, thrashing on the cot. Occasionally he calls out for his brother or Castiel. Sam’s pupils are blown wide and he’s panting. He looks _feral_.   


With caution, Gabriel steps closer. “Sam? You with me?”   


Sam’s head jerks to the side. “Y-you’re not r-real.”   


“Okay,” he says easily enough. “Good to know. Are _you_ real?”   


Frowning, Sam can’t quite control the tremors in his hands as he tries to push off the cot. “I don’t know anymore,” he croaks out. “Please… whatever you are… please just leave me alone. I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I’m good now, so let me go…”   


“Oh, man,” Gabriel groans, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “You’re worse off than I’d thought.”   


“I’m fine,” Sam insists, tucking his twitching hands in his armpits, shaking. “Just go…”   


“Not yet. Not finished yet.” With a firm but gentle hand, Gabriel pins Sam back to the bed.   


“What are you doing?” Sam whispers.   


“Helping,” is all he replies. He rolls up his sleeve.   


Snapping his fingers produces a small, intricate dagger. Without the slightest hesitation, Gabriel draws a red line across the width of his forearm—two inches, at most. He tosses the weapon into the air and it evaporates.   


“Wha…?” Sam pants out.   


“Now be a good boy and open up.” Gabriel holds his arm over Sam’s mouth, patient.   


Sam flings Gabriel’s arm to the side. “No! Get away from me! No, I won’t! I WON’T!”   


While he appreciates Sam’s attempt at self-control, if those screams get any louder, Dean and his little guardian angel are going to burst in here and give Gabriel a shit-fit. With an exasperated sigh, he leans down. “Hey…” He catches Sam’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Using the indomitable strength at his disposal, Gabriel turns the man’s pale face until they are almost nose-to-nose. “Winchester? No use fighting this time. It’s not a request. Drink.”   


“N—umph!”   


Sam convulses when Gabriel shoves his arm into Sam’s mouth. But it doesn’t take long. A few drops slip into Sam’s mouth, and already his tongue is sliding along the slit, seeking more of the taste.   


Seconds tick by, and then Sam latches on to Gabriel’s arm and starts… feeding, for lack of a better word. He’s sucking powerfully, grunting softly, and Gabriel gasps at the sight Sam’s jaws and throat, working him.   


It’s heady, watching the effect he’s having on Sam. He can’t remember the last time he’d done this sort of thing—maybe a pagan rite, a millennium ago, at least.   


The young man’s pupils constrict and retract. His body arches off the bed, seeking contact with Gabriel’s. He moans so prettily, eventually closing his eyes and giving himself over to the sensations that Gabriel’s blood bring him.   


_Well, at least I’m tasty. But too much of a good thing…_   


He smooths slick hair off Sam’s head and whispers, “Just a little. Not too much, or you’ll get sick…”   


Sam’s not listening, too far gone. He’s in the throes of pure bloodlust. And… apparently also lust-lust, if Sam’s sizable erection is any indication.   


Gabriel smirks as his eyes rake down the length of Sam’s body—and it’s a _long_ body—long, powerful, and handsome. And also very horny.   


Sam seems to have enough presence of mind to notice what’s caught Gabriel’s attention. He blushes and makes a whimpering noise that Gabriel makes a mental note to tease him about later.   


“Sorry,” the Archangel murmurs. “Guess we found our first side effect.”   


Groaning, Sam pulls his mouth away. “What are you… doing to me?”   


“Isn’t that obvious?” He slowly slides his hands down Sam’s chest, inching his way closer to the source of Sam’s new problem. “You asked for my help. I’m helping.” Carefully, he palms over the impressive tent in Sam’s jeans.   


“Why?” Sam whines in distress, bucking up.   


Gabriel decides he’s sick of that question. He stretches out over top of the younger Winchester until they are lined up—Sam still has a few inches on him toward the end of the bed, but he’s really not focusing on that, now. “Does it matter?” He places his arm over Sam’s mouth again and watches with heavy-lidded eyes as Sam strains up to latch on again. “I’m here now. I’ll give you what you need. Just… a little more…”   


More like Sam _takes_. He licks and sucks at Gabriel’s wound like it is the most fantastic meal he’s ever had, and it really shouldn’t be that much of a turn-on, but it is. The _sounds_ Sam’s making—greedy and needy and vulnerable—they awaken dark, possessive things in Gabriel. Things at odds with the strange protective streak this kid seems to inspire in him.   


It’s not really clear who started it, but by now, they’re both grinding their hips together—a slow, wicked ache that feels so good. So much better than he remembers it ever feeling, before—though, this is Sam. Sam has always been special.   


“Unf,” Gabriel moans, thrusting down as Sam’s legs twine around his and pull him forward.   


Sam’s not sucking quite as avidly now, but he really should stop the kid before a headache, nausea, and a coma set in. It takes more strength than he’d imagined to dislodge his arm from Sam’s mouth.   


With a snap—habit, even now—his wound is gone.   


…This does not make Sam happy.   


Gabriel rocks their hips together with a little more force. “Sorry, Sammy. You gotta trust me on this one.”   


Sam just moans, his hands clutching at Gabriel’s straining triceps. “Why is this happening to me?” he asks, but his voice is so slurred, it comes out more like _whys ish happaninta me?_   


“It’s your lucky day,” he deadpans.   


To be honest, he’d really like to yank Sam’s pants down and jerk him off—or suck him, fuck him, whatever. And Sam would let him, too. Perhaps his old self would figure there’d be no harm or foul taking what was on offer; but Sam had reminded him of what he was—before. And he found he didn’t want the kid hating him for taking advantage.   


So instead, he held himself still above Sam and only moved his hips in answer to Sam’s thrusts, never initiating anything.   


“Fuck, it’s so hot in here!” Sam complains. A light sheen of sweat makes his skin salty and slick. “What did you _do_ to me?”   


Gabriel swallows thickly—Sam’s started moving his hips in circles that increase in width and pressure with every rotation. “My… uh… my blood… is in you now. Burning out the impurities…”   


Eyes drooping, Sam looks up at him; the kid’s mind is practically dribbling out his ears. “M’clean?”   


He smiles indulgently. “You will be. Gotta do this a few more times, but then…”   


Something like tentative relief sparkles behind Sam’s eyes; he tucks his face under Gabriel’s chin and bites down on the tender skin at Gabriel’s throat.   


And that’s it—that’s one of his triggers. With a growl, Gabriel mashes their hips together, their cocks rubbing against each other at a near-frantic pace, the restrictive clothing an elegant, if maddening, burn.   


Sam pants out, “Want… want…” Then he shakes his head and bites down on Gabriel’s shoulder.   


“C’mon, Sam. Take it…”   


The cot squeaks—threatens to break, even… but they don’t stop, can’t stop. It’s too good. So fucking good. They haven’t shed a single article of clothing, and already Gabriel feels overwhelmed, ready to come after just a few minutes of simple frottage.   


“Guh… Gabriel…” Planting his heels on the cot, Sam thrusts up hard a few times before creaming his pants—Gabriel can feel the warmth spread between them; it yanks away any hope of control, and then he’s coming, too—long and hard, and it’s shockingly _good_.   


He collapses on Sam, who puts up with the imposition, despite having to fight extra hard to get air in his lungs.   


Lazily, Gabriel waves a hand, and they are clean again. Well, he’s immaculate; _Sam_ somehow still manages to look utterly debauched. But also slightly better. Gabriel silently congratulates himself as he sits up.   


Sleepy eyes look up at him. “You… your blood… this is a side effect?”   


“Yes.”   


“Every time?”   


He nods. “Probably.”   


Sam is quiet for a minute. “Don’t tell Dean?”   


Gabriel hums. Telling would give Dean ammunition against Sam for the rest of time—however short that may be. But it would be just a bit too cruel, considering the circumstances. And Castiel would probably get all smite-y on him. “It can be our little secret.”   


He’s not sure why, but Sam seems to be taking all this in stride—the offer of help, Gabriel’s blood, the fact that they just dry humped one another like a couple of teenagers. It occurs to him that Sam’s been through quite a bit recently, it’s a lot to process, and the freak-out is probably only delayed. That’s okay.   


“Rest,” he commands, swiping his thumb across Sam’s cheek, tenderly stroking the black circle of fatigue under the kid’s right eye.   


“But when I—”   


“I’ll watch over you.” Two fingers touch Sam’s temple, and he’s out like a light, off to a dreamless sleep that will last for almost twenty hours.   


~*~

  


  


  


**III.**   


The next several days, everyone is walking around on tiptoes, so to speak. Dean hovers outside the panic room, watching Gabriel, who spends most of his time watching Sam sleep.   


It’d be unnerving, except Gabriel’s focusing most of his energy on warding off Sam’s sleep. Sure, the panic room has its bells and whistles, but it could no more keep Lucifer out than it could Gabriel. Besides, Sam needs the rest; he doesn’t.   


Dean should rest, too—the man looks like he hasn’t slept in years. Castiel pops in and out from time to time—probably still wandering around in search of Daddy—but when he does visit, he’s the only one who can persuade Dean to go to bed. Bobby doesn’t try—Bobby doesn’t even go near the basement anymore, just keeps to his library and mutters under his breath.   


Several hours pass like that, with everyone in their own respective corners, tense and alert.   


When Sam finally wakes, he’s curiously blank. Not sheepish, not angry, not even emo—which has Dean a little worried. Mostly Sam looks like he got run over by a truck. But when Bobby offers to let him out of the panic room, Sam enthusiastically agrees and demands a shower, so at least that’s something.   


~*~

  


While Sam is upstairs washing himself on shaky legs in the bathroom, Castiel attempts to make them breakfast in the kitchen. The angel has taken to cooking meals as a means of repaying Bobby’s hospitality. It… has yet to go well.   


Including this time.   


Once they put the fire out and waft the smoke away from the fire alarm, they agree to let Gabriel snap breakfast onto their plates. Well, onto Bobby’s and Dean’s and Sam’s plates—Castiel looks like he never wants to eat anything ever again, which, after the stint with Famine, is understandable… but Gabriel’s pancakes are in a whole other orbit from cheeseburgers, and he’s insulted that his little brother won’t even try one…   


Sam stumbles into the kitchen and weakly sits down in the only empty seat. He picks up a fork, stabs at his food, and just before he takes a bite, says, “I’m sorry…”   


Dean swallows and nods.   


Bobby doesn’t say anything.   


Castiel fills Sam’s glass up to the brim with freshly squeezed—or snapped, as the case may be—orange juice. “It’s all right, Sam. He got to everyone.”   


They all glance quickly at Dean; no one really wants to get into the “hollowed-out shell-of-a-human being” debate with him just now.   


“You feel okay, Sammy?” Dean asks around a mouthful of pancakes.   


Sam nods, eating slowly. He shoots a look at Gabriel. “Yeah. A little. It’s… I’m tired.”   


This, Gabriel realizes, is them attempting to patch things up without actually talking about it. He shakes his head—they really are gonna be dumbasses about everything.   


“It’s still not gone,” Gabriel mentions casually, pouring thick syrup over his pancakes. “The demon blood, I mean. It will take a while to get it all out of your system. Your body is going to feel extra sapped until it is. Nothing I can do about that, except keep you under, if you want. But…”   


But that would mean he’d have to stay around all the time, guarding Sam’s mind while Sam was unconscious.   


“No, I… you’ve done enough,” Sam grumbles. “Thanks.”   


They all pause; no one is sure what to say. Finally Bobby breaks in with, “Well, eat up, then, boy. Get your strength up. Once you’re all rested up, want you to look at some research with me. Got an idea I want to talk over with you.”   


Sam looks like he’s about to fall over from exhaustion, but he nods anyway, eager to be useful. “Yeah, okay.”   


With that, Bobby piles seconds onto his plate and wheels himself back to his library, clearly not wanting to be in the same room as two angels and two _idjit_ brothers.   


Gabriel waits, watching Sam try three times to get the last of his pancakes onto his fork, before announcing, “Right, back to bed with you—and I mean a real bed, that cot down there is crap on my back.”   


Dean frowns; it’s on the tip of his tongue to say something about Gabriel sharing a bed with his brother, but, remembering the reason why Gabriel’s around when Sam sleeps, he pretends he doesn’t care and steals the syrup from Gabriel instead.   


“Um, I think I’ll just head to my room, then.” Sam looks at Dean for a long moment, clearly wanting to apologize a few more thousand times.   


Dean forces out a smile. “Go on, then. And take Gabester with you; he’s turning me off my breakfast.”   


Smirking, Gabriel fires back, “Hey, I made that food you ate every bite of.”   


Sam doesn’t wait for him, so he pops out of his chair and heads for the door.   


He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears Cas’ low tone: “I am sorry I ruined breakfast. I can’t seem to do anything right.”   


A chair scrapes against the floor, and he can just make out Dean’s voice: “Naw, you do plenty.” Then it’s quiet—too quiet, and Gabriel has to wonder if they’re eye-fucking again.   


“They are totally eye-fucking again,” Sam mutters around a yawn, trudging up the stairs.   


Gabriel startles, almost tripping on the last step. “What?”   


“Dean and Cas. Doing the staring thing again. You can almost hear them do it, they look at each other so hard. So yeah, you’re right; they probably are eye-fucking again.”   


“You heard that,” Gabriel said flatly.   


Sam doesn’t acknowledge this much beyond a nod as he toddles into Bobby’s guest room and flops on the bed.   


“Just to be clear,” Gabriel tries again, “you heard me say ‘they are eye-fucking again,’ right?”   


Sam frowns, his head already lolling on the pillow. “Uh huh? You’re not, like, mad about that, are you? I mean, after what we did, I would think…”   


“No, I’m not mad.” Gabriel stretches out next to Sam, determined to keep his voice level. “And I don’t care what they get up to—frankly, my brother could stand to lose his cherry something fierce—”   


Sam groans, palming his face. “You sound just like Dean.”   


Gabriel shakes his head. “Stop insulting me. No, I’m not worried about Dean and Cas.”   


_I’m worried because I didn’t say that out loud._   


“Hmmmmm.” Sam rolls over onto his stomach. His left arm accidentally-but-not-really-accidentally-at-all curls around Gabriel’s waist.   


Shit.   


Okay, shit.   


Gabriel didn’t mean to start this. He was just supposed to help out. Gabriel was not seeking to initiate a bond with anyone—let alone a human, let alone a human as fucked up as Sam, who, oh, just so happens to be the Devil’s meat suit.   


Why can’t anything ever be simple anymore? A few sacrifices, an orgy, a bonfire or two—life used to be one big party.   


He waits for the urge to fly away wash over him, but it doesn’t.   


Sighing, Gabriel turns toward Sam and observes the kid in sleep. It’s not like he’s totally against the idea of having some sort of bond with Sam. Sam’s not so bad. But mind-reading wasn’t on his to-do list when he made the offer to help out Dean.   


Dean will go ape-shit when he finds out his baby brother and his least favorite angel are, in essence, courting.   


Shitshitshit.   


Well, he’ll deal with it later. They are most likely all doomed anyway, so there’s no sense in worrying about stuff he can’t undo… _won’t_ undo, if given the choice.   


He snuggles up to Sam’s warm, freakishly tall body and lets himself relax.   


In the dreamscape, Gabriel wraps the invisible strings of their new bond around the two of them until it feels like they’re in a cocoon of light—safe, together, trapped happily in their own little bubble. He sends Sam a vision of bright sunshine, a soft breeze, and green, green grass.   


~*~

  


  


  


**IV.**   


Two weeks later, Sam’s recovery is going off without a hitch.   


It takes four more “treatments,” which always result in heavy make-out sessions. Gabriel insists that Sam take the lead in almost everything—he kinda likes the way Sam begs without really saying anything.   


By the third treatment, they work their way up from grinding hips to mutual hand jobs, which are hotter than they have any right to be—so hot that when they come, Sam has to bite the heel of his hand to keep from waking up the whole house, and Gabriel has to fight the urge to release his true form and set Sam’s eyeballs on fire.   


The fourth time, after, they’re laying side by side, facing each other, sweaty and sore in a good way. Sam nudges Gabriel with his nose and asks, “Why are you doing this, really?”   


Gabriel grins and says, “For the mind-blowing orgasms?”   


Sam’s smile is wry. “Sex isn’t the answer for everything.”   


“Sam! …Sam, Sam, Sam.” Gabriel rolls them both until he’s back on top. “Sex isn’t the answer. Sex is the question. The answer… is _yes_. Or in your case, _yes, please._ ”   


Sam’s eyes twinkle for a moment, and then he kisses Gabriel…   


Whenever Sam kisses him, Gabriel feels like he’s sinking inside something warm and eternal, almost; he can feel the bond coil and tighten between them.   


The fifth time, Sam is so beautiful when he’s spread out under the Archangel, so desperate and hot and eager, that after two weeks of heavy petting with their clothes on, Gabriel decides it’s probably okay to take things further. He pulls Sam’s pajama pants off the old-fashioned way, giving the kid plenty of time to protest. But Sam seems enthusiastic about the idea, if still a little shy. Maybe it’s because he’s an Archangel, or because his vessel is a dude, or because he did happen to kill Sam’s brother a couple hundred times—maybe it’s because said brother is only a thin wall away—but whatever the reason, Gabriel finds it endearing.   


Gabriel smiles softly as he licks a slick trail down Sam’s sculpted chest. Only after Sam begs prettily enough does he take Sam in his hot, wet mouth. Gabriel sucks him all the way down and up, over and over, until Sam is gripping the headboard with the tips of his fingers and chanting his name. He cups Sam’s balls and gently tongues the slit of Sam’s cock, then moans when Sam comes, sharp and bittersweet—and he drinks it down greedily. That dark, territorial thing is getting bigger, growing stronger.   


They stare at each other intensely, panting, and then Sam hauls him up until Gabriel is straddling Sam’s stomach, his swollen prick smearing pre-come over Sam’s belly. Sam licks his own hand—Gabriel moans, just watching it—and then Sam jacks him, hard and fast—possessive, even.   


_Fuck, fuck—so good. Sam, yeah… Tighter._   


Sam instantly tightens his hand.   


“Yeah, fuck my fist,” Sam growls.   


So Gabriel does, snapping his hips forward each time. When Gabriel comes, there’s a brief moment when they both see the shadows of his wings on the wall. _Fuck—no! Close your eyes._   


Sam screws his eyes shut just before the room lights up with Gabriel’s true form; it lasts maybe two or three seconds, and he does he best not to break light bulbs or shake the house down. No one comes running, so, he probably managed not to level Bobby’s house, at least.   


When it’s over, he’s lying on Sam’s chest, his cheek smooshed across Sam’s pectoral. Sam’s hands are tangling in his hair, blunt nails softly raking his scalp.   


_Can you hear my thoughts?_ Sam thinks, opening his eyes.   


“Yeah. If I want to.” Gabriel doesn’t really move but he manages to point to himself. _Archangel_.   


“So how come I can hear your thoughts, Mister Archangel?”   


Gabriel freezes… then lifts himself up a bit to look into Sam’s eyes. “Archangel blood in your veins?”   


Sam processes this. “I have even more of your blood in me now than before. But the ability to hear what you’re thinking… it’s not getting stronger, since we started…”   


“I usually shield my thoughts. Except when my brain is coming out my dick.”   


They both smirk, but Gabriel hastens to add, “It’s not permanent. Probably. Human blood cells renew every four months or so. Not a lot of data on demon blood and even less on the blood of my kind. But once all the non-human blood runs its course, you should be back to normal. I’m thinking psychic hotline day-job for you, Sammy boy.”   


Sam goes back to petting his hair, encouraging him to lie back down. “Okay,” he says simply, like it isn’t a big deal—like it isn’t something that could change them both forever. It’s just easy, content, between them.   


Gabriel thinks that the last few days have been almost too good to be true. Sam hasn’t had the energy to argue or get lost in a bunch of existential guilt; the dreams they share reinforce the bond, while keeping Lucifer at bay; and Dean and Castiel, though still protective of Sam, have given them both space, interrupting them only for meals and to check in before bedtime.   


They’ve fallen into a sort of routine. Gabriel almost feels like he belongs here.   


Resting his head on Sam’s chest once again, he listens to Sam’s heartbeat… and he _knows_. Sam is almost ready. He doesn’t really want to admit how lonely he’ll be once they don’t need him anymore. It was nice, having company. But, still, he’d held up his end of the bargain—Sam was mostly clean; he’d been sleeping and eating well; and soon he’d be well enough to join Dean and Castiel on hunts.   


The thought of Castiel becoming a hunter amuses Gabriel. But since he’d overheard that muted conversation in the kitchen, Dean has kept himself busy waiting for Sam to heal up by taking it upon himself to “train” Cas.   


And Castiel isn’t that bad a marksman. He isn’t awful at hand-to-hand combat. Of course he’s great on the research and the lore. He gets lost anytime the lessons involve pop culture references, but, to his credit, Dean never shows his exasperation.   


Much.   


In truth, it’s kind of nice to watch over Sammy, sleeping the day away, blissed out from healthy doses of angel blood and mind-numbing orgasms, and then it’s also nice to look out the window to see Dean and Cas train in the backyard. A genuine smile is a rare sight on Dean, but Castiel manages to glimpse at least one a day. Gabriel notices that he always gives Dean a smile back.   


That was what he’d wanted, after all. To wipe that hang-dog expression off Castiel’s face. Watching Dean and Castiel now, acknowledging that a human and an angel—with two radically different personalities, at that—have become so close, so trusting… It gives Gabriel a glimmer of hope.   


He knows better than to think too much about him and Sam, bond or no—because sooner rather than later, Sam won’t really need him anymore.   


~*~

  


When Sam is well enough to get up and walk around during the day, Bobby pulls him aside and discusses his idea—or rather, his Crazy Insane Stupid Plan, which is what Gabriel likes to call it.   


It seems Bobby found an ancient spell to trap Pestilence in what amounts to a magical black hole in a spirit realm, or alternate universe, or whatever hippies were calling it these days.   


The angels just exchange looks when they hear the old hunter explain all this. Gabriel doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when Castiel just deflates like a broken blow-up doll, sinking down on the couch with a great sigh. But after Sam double-checks all the books and memorizes the incantation, Castiel seems at least resolved, if not optimistic, that they’ll give it a shot.   


Gabriel doesn’t quite know how to react. The plan is stupid. And insane. Also, crazy.   


But… if they manage to take out that horseman, as they had with War and Famine, then the apocalypse would be a little less like rowing up Shit Creek without a paddle. If the Croatoa Virus never spreads, then that proves that the future can change. And that will give Gabriel enough proof of Team Free Will’s mighty awesomeness to join their Damned-with-a-capital-D crusade.   


~*~

  


A few days later, Sam is ready to get back in the game, and they all agree they should do small jobs first, like practice sessions, before taking on the Crazy Insane Stupid Plan.   


“Come with us,” Sam says.   


This is what Gabriel’s been waiting for with some trepidation. “No.” He looks down at the floor. “No, I think I’ll sit this one out. Y’all don’t need me for simple salt-and-burns. But you boys have fun.”   


If Gabriel had a picture of an adorable puppy that had been kicked around and then abandoned in a scary, dark alley, and if he held said picture up next to Sam’s face just then, the resemblance would have been uncanny. It certainly _feels_ like he kicked a puppy, thanks to the damn bond.   


Castiel looks like he wants to comment, but he doesn’t.   


Sam’s gearing up to argue, but Dean goes to load up the car and tosses over his shoulder, “He’s done enough for now, Sammy,” and that, it seems, is that.   


“Yeah, okay,” Sam says in a clipped tone.   


He watches Sam stomp outside then shrugs to Castiel. “Teenagers. What are ya gonna do?”   


Castiel just gives him an examining look before saying very seriously, “This is my cell phone number. If you wish to join us at any point.” He holds up the cell long enough for Gabriel to commit the numbers to memory, then he _bamfs_ out of the room to join Dean by the Impala.   


_I’ll be back in a few days for your treatment,_ he sends to Sam.   


_Great,_ Sam says back.   


Trying not to think about the disappointment he can feel Sam feeling, Gabriel goes outside to wait with Bobby on the front porch. They wave the boys off on their first hunt in almost a month. He stands there until the Impala’s taillights disappear.   


“Well, feather-brain,” Bobby grouches, “what are you still doing here with me?”   


Gabriel gives him a tiny smile. “Just wanted to thank you.” He leans over and pats the man on one useless knee. “Ya know, for your hospitality.”   


Bobby grouses and very pointedly doesn’t look at him. “Yeah, yeah—fine. Go on and get out of here; do whatever Archangels get up to these days.”   


“I was thinking cocktails on a beach. I know of at least a dozen good tropical paradises. Care to join me?”   


Bobby glares. “Yeah, I’ll just wheel myself around in the sand, maybe play a little beach volleyball; it’ll be a _blast_.”   


“Well, if you wanted, you could try it,” Gabriel says cheerfully, walking backwards off the porch. “But I was thinking you could just, ya know, walk. Maybe swim. Do things the easy way for once.”   


Bobby gapes, flushing with outrage…   


Then he looks down to the knee that Gabriel had slapped. “You mean you…” The older man lurches forward and begins to stand…   


Gabriel snaps his fingers and flies away, pleased, for the first time in hundreds of years, to have given someone a gift with no strings attached.   


Dammit. Sam Winchester’s having an odd effect on him.   


~*~

  


Gabriel checks in every few days. The hunts are going well. Castiel watches over both Winchesters while they sleep, and so far he hasn’t called Gabriel about Sam having any Lucifer nightmares. Which Gabriel almost regrets, because it would be a good excuse to spend more time with Sam, maybe even cuddle, which would really get Dean’s goat.   


Instead, he chooses to pop in during long drives to annoy Dean and feel up Sam, who’s taken to sitting in the backseat because Dean insists on teaching Cas to drive.   


This _does not_ consist of letting Cas get behind the wheel—oh no. But Dean lets Cas sit up front and talks—almost endlessly—about the art of driving, and how to care for his baby, and why his baby is better than any other baby on the whole planet. Castiel doesn’t seem to mind, despite the obvious fact that he only understands about half of whatever Dean’s saying. Castiel makes the appropriate noises of encouragement at the appropriate times, and this is enough for Dean.   


Gabriel and Sam will often trade knowing looks at times like these, but they really aren’t any better, using any opportunity to get their hands on one another. Gabriel loves to surprise Sam in the shower, covering Sam’s mouth with his left hand and using his right hand to jerk both their cocks under the hot spray of water. Sam seems to appreciate these visits, if the finger-shaped bruises on his Gabriel’s ass—that, sadly, immediately fade—are any indication.   


The dirty talk they think to each other is even better and sometimes Gabriel has to keep his hand over Sam’s mouth just to muffle his laughter.   


~*~

  


One night, after the hunters have taken down a large vampire nest, Gabriel joins them for dinner. He calls Cas and joins them in a run-of-the-mill greasy spoon off Route 40. Sam orders a chocolate milkshake for him without bothering to ask what he wants—the kid just knew, compliments of the bond—and this has Dean peering at them both funny, but he glances at Castiel and doesn’t mention it.   


Castiel asks a question about the rock music playing in the diner, and Dean latches onto the topic like a drowning man clutching at a life-vest. They get into a conversation about why Zeppelin rules—Gabriel mentions that he pretty much _gave_ the song “Stairway to Heaven” to Robert Plant in a dream one night, which has Dean grinning and calling bullshit, and then they are both off, quizzing each other on everything from classic rock to hair ballads of the 80s—of which Gabriel is particularly (perhaps overly) fond.   


Cas and Sam smile indulgently through all this, happy for once that Dean and Gabriel aren’t at one another’s throats. The waitress comes with their food, but the conversation never lulls. Dean insists Castiel try the fries while he takes a moment to clarify the finer points of Metallica’s history to the angel, who peers at the sliver of grease-drenched potato as if he’s inspecting a new life form.   


Sam uses the distraction to whisper to Gabriel, “Between this and helping Bobby, all you gotta do is praise the Impala, and he just may stop hating your guts.”   


“Good,” Gabriel murmurs back. “I want him to like me. I’m trying to butter him up so I can get his brother in the sack.”   


Sam’s eyes smolder. “You should be buttering up me, then. I make my own decisions, you know.”   


“Yeah, I heard that about you.” Gabriel casually slips his hand under the table. He rubs Sam’s thigh—up and down, up and down—his palm smoothing over the soft fabric. He knows this is driving Sam nuts, and he hopes Sam takes it out on him later, in the shower.   


He’s almost so focused on those mental images that he doesn’t notice the sharp look Castiel gives him. Almost.   


He doesn’t take his hand away, though.   


~*~

  


  


  


**V.**   


It’s in the middle of a rainstorm (that technically should be classified as a hurricane) when things go horribly wrong.   


Dean, Cas, and Sam are stalking Pestilence. Rumors of bizarre plagues and pollution in New Jersey reached them about a week prior. Bobby had insisted that if it were bizarre enough to register in New Jersey, chances were good it was supernatural. Possibly even Pestilence.   


So they drive all night and manage to track a lead to a rotting—actually rotting—warehouse in Trenton, which all signs indicate is Pestilence’s home base. Getting in is easy—gross, but easy.   


Too easy. They should know better, but they are eager for it to just be over.   


The warehouse is dank and smells like the bowels of a diseased corpse. Pestilence is waiting for them inside—shaking and crackling—furious at the death of its brothers and eager to take revenge. They don’t see it, at first, because Pestilence is surrounded by zombies who are falling apart—literally falling apart.   


Castiel starts bleeding from almost every orifice the moment he walks through the door.   


This distracts Dean enough that he doesn’t notice the pack of Croats advancing until they’ve almost descended on him.   


Sam tries to help, but he’s slammed high up against a wall. Long, rusty nails drive into his open palms and the delicate bones of each of his ankles. Unable to breathe, he hangs suspended, crucified, his wounds starting to fester almost immediately.   


Below, Castiel rallies, shooting at the pack of Croats that are piling on Dean. He’s too late, though—Dean’s been bitten, multiple times, and he’s shouting at Cas to shoot him before they run out of ammo and he turns.   


Castiel doesn’t even get the chance to protest before Pestilence shimmers behind him, running one long, puss-oozing finger down Castiel’s slender throat.   


Eyes rolling, Cas gasps and spews blood—hot, red blood—which spatters everywhere as he crumples to the floor.   


The sight of blood makes something in Sam click, and his thoughts fly to Gabriel, the frickin’ Archangel, who really should have been on this mission, but for some reason Dean insisted they had something to prove by doing it alone.   


He screws his eyes shut and thinks _GABRIEL! HELP US!_ desperately. He doesn’t think about the address of their location or the specifics, he just telegraphs everything in his mind’s eye and prays.   


A few heartbeats stretch out to infinity as Sam worries that Gabriel won’t come. Then, the air crackles with electricity. Thunder rolls overhead. Lightning strikes down all around the warehouse.   


A second later, a very worried and supremely pissed Archangel appears before them.   


With a sweeping glance, Gabriel takes it all in.   


One wave of his hand, and the Croats are dead, falling like empty husks on the ground.   


Pestilence tries to leak out the window as dense smog—but Gabriel is having none of it. He grips his fingers into a tight fist and yanks, pulling Pestilence back somehow.   


“You look a little under the weather,” Gabriel says mockingly.   


Resuming its human guise, Pestilence sneers, writhing. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t fight destiny. You know that.”   


“Eh, fuck it,” Gabriel murmurs, materializing his dagger.   


“Oh… oh, I see,” Pestilence whines, twisting in Gabriel’s invisible grip to look up at Sam. “Your stink is all over him. You really have let your standards go. And they call _me_ sick.”   


“Hey!” Gabriel shouts, sounding a bit like his old Trickster self. “That’s over the line, pal.” In the blink of an eye, Gabriel moves in front of Pestilence, raises its sore-encrusted hand up, and slices off its ring finger.   


The horseman shrieks, its power fading instantly.   


Gabriel ignores all this, intoning a few words that make the windows shake, then shatter.   


A portal opens—at first, the size of a dime, then bursting into a circle of swirling light that throw shadows on the wall of Gabriel’s huge wings. As Gabriel keeps chanting, the portal grows big enough to swallow Pestilence whole.   


And it does.   


Bobby’s magic spell works—thanks to a few modifications that only an Archangel could dream up—thus banishing Pestilence to another plane.   


The warehouse is suddenly very still, the only sound the slap of rain on the roof. Gabriel looks up and sees Sam dangling precariously overhead. He concentrates over the sound of his own rushing heartbeat and moves. Suspended in mid-air, Gabriel hovers above Sam and cups his face. “I’m sorry…”   


_Gabriel?_   


“This is going to hurt, Sam.”   


Invisible strength rips the nails out; they clatter to the floor.   


It hurts so bad, Sam can’t even scream. He flails right into Gabriel’s arms and barely feels it as he’s lowered back to the floor, which is now slick with blood from Castiel, Dean, and the Croats.   


Gabriel kisses Sam’s palms, and they instantly heal. He places his hands over Sam’s ankles, and though there’s still a residual twinge of pain, Sam is fine again.   


“Dean…” Sam tries to stand, but he’s not quite got the use of his legs back.   


Dean rolls around on the floor, suffering from an untold number of infected bite marks. Spittle trickles out of the corners of his mouth. He crawls toward Cas as best as he can—the angel is unmoving, face-down in a puddle of his own blood.   


Gabriel urges Sam back down and goes over to his fallen brother. He turns Castiel over gently and smears some of the blood off that expressionless face. Gabriel closes his eyes and places one hand on the crown of Castiel’s head, then he spreads his other hand over Castiel’s heart.   


There’s no fireworks, no big show, just the quiet gasp of Castiel’s first breath, which, to them, is deafening.   


Gabriel then stands over Dean, who looks more annoyed than anything. “Damn, Winchester, you owe me some serious pie for this crap.” A snap, and suddenly Dean’s flesh is made anew, not a scratch on him anywhere.   


“Ugh.” Gabriel plonks down on his ass rather abruptly. “That was a bit… draining.”   


After a few wobbly steps, Sam’s behind him, bracing him up, making him lean back against the warmth of Sam’s solid chest.   


“Gabriel, you okay?” Sam asks, voice low with fear.   


“Yeah. Sure. Will be. Just gotta… ya know… rest…” He glances up at Sam. “You good?”   


Sam nods. “Yeah, thanks to you.”   


“Yeah, um…” Gabriel takes a deep breath and says in a rush, “Sam? You’re not allowed to go on a hunt without me. Ever again. Like, ever. Okay?”   


Sam chuckles. “Sounds good to me.”   


A few feet away, Dean helps Castiel up—not that it’s even remotely necessary, but Castiel seems to lean on Dean anyway. The angel uses his hands to methodically check Dean over, reassuring himself that Dean is totally free from any bite marks. Dean puts up with it until he notices that Sam and Gabriel are staring. Castiel blinks over at them as though he just remembered they were even there. They walk to where Gabriel is half-sprawled back in Sam’s arms.   


“Gabe?” Dean asks with maybe a smidgeon of concern. Maybe.   


“Aw… Dean….” Gabriel pants. “What happened to calling me Gabester? You getting all sweet on me, now? Cas’ll be jealous.”   


Cas flushes at that remark but otherwise ignores it. “Are you harmed, brother?”   


He shakes his head. “No. Just… that spell… very ancient. Kinda been a while since I’ve done anything that… angel-y and intense.”   


Sam pets his hair back and wraps his arm around Gabriel’s chest, and Gabriel doesn’t really care if Dean and Castiel know about them—especially if Sam doesn’t care about PDAs—so he closes his eyes and leans into it. He reaches up behind him and smooths his thumb over the back of Sam’s neck, silently reassuring him. _I’m gonna be fine._   


“How did you know to get here?” Dean asks, managing to hide most of the suspicion in his voice.   


Gabriel opens his eyes, not sure what to say.   


“You said we had to prove we were worthy, and then you’d join us.” Dean crossed his arms. “I think all we proved is that we could get our asses kicked. So why’d you show up?”   


“I…” Gabriel falters.   


“We’re bonded,” Sam supplies. “A side effect of the blood treatments. I called him for help. In my mind…”   


Dean raises an eyebrow and looks at Castiel.   


Castiel nods. “It’s likely… though I would have thought that Gabriel’s Grace would be almost entirely out of your system after this many weeks, Sam.” Castiel tilts his head, looking for all the world like a disappointed puppy. “You haven’t still been sharing blood, have you?”   


“NO!” Sam and Gabriel both say quickly.   


“Then how…” Dean starts. “Oh hey, here's a thought? Let’s talk about it someplace not here. Can you mojo us back to our hotel? I want a shower. Or six.”   


Gabriel sighs. “Yeah, just—”   


Sporting his trademark bitch-face, Sam interrupts: “Give him a minute, Dean. He did just kill a bunch of Croats, banish Pestilence, and heal three people!”   


Dean has the good sense to look sheepish. “Right. Okay, right—sorry.” Dean clears his throat. “And, uh… thanks.”   


Gabriel gapes. “Oh my Dad. I never thought I’d live to see the day… Kiss me, Sam. It really is the end of the world.”   


Dean grimaces and turns to Castiel. “Okay, I’m done now and I really want to not be looking at my brother spooning the angel he’s bumping uglies with, so, let’s go wait in the car and…”   


“I will take you back,” Castiel says, tapping his fingers to Dean’s and Sam’s foreheads.   


~*~

  


Gabriel blinks, not quite ready to believe he’s just been left behind. A few seconds later, Castiel is back in the warehouse, standing before Gabriel, who is still splayed out on the floor, blood and dead bodies all around him.   


“Oh, you’re back?” Gabriel asks nonchalantly.   


“Dean would be upset if I left the car,” Castiel deadpans.   


Snickering, Gabriel shakes his head. “Right.”   


Castiel crouches down. “In all seriousness, Gabriel—are you all right? Is your Grace truly unchanged, despite helping the Winchesters?”   


In answer, Gabriel snaps his fingers, and the warehouse is back to being just a dilapidated old building, instead of a rotting, infested crypt. “Yep. Guess I’m not cut off quite yet.”   


Castiel takes his hand and hauls him to his feet with no effort.   


“I sense you want to have a chat with me about something?”   


“Gabriel.” Castiel cocks his head. “Your feelings for Sam Winchester—”   


“Will probably get us all killed but… they’re real. Okay? Really real. Beyond that I don’t know, all right?” He puffs out his chest. “Got a problem with that?”   


“Only if Sam has a problem with it, which he does not seem to.”   


Gabriel eyes his brother. “What if Dean has a problem with it?”   


A small smile curves Castiel’s lips. “Dean is easily distracted, and when that fails, he can be persuaded. …Usually.”   


Gabriel chuckles. “How devious of you, little brother. Well done. I’m proud, really.”   


Castiel shakes his head slightly. “It would probably help matters if you got your own rooms from now on… and perhaps you could use your power to soundproof the shower…”   


Gabriel boggles. “What?”   


“The sound… carries…”   


He barks out a laugh. “I’m shocked that Dean didn’t bust down the door and tear me a new one for molesting his baby brother!”   


Another small smile. “Yes. It was difficult to restrain him.”   


“Poor Cas. So you guys have known for a while, then?”   


“There is not much about Sam that Dean does not make it a point to know. He loves his brother very much. More than anything.” Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “I would not like to see your relationship with Sam drive a wedge between him and Dean…”   


Gabriel softens. “Aw, now look. I won’t come between ’em. I’m not saying I’ll never start the occasional prank war—and I may be so awesome that I make Sam scream the walls down from time to time…”   


“I do not require details.”   


“But, Dean’s not so awful. He kinda grew on me. Like a fungus, I guess.”   


“Dean said the same thing about you.”   


Gabriel grins. “Great. So, um, can we go back to the motel now? I expect my Winchester is tired and your Winchester is getting worried.” Actually, he knows Sam is nervous because he can feel it through their bond, which hasn’t weakened a bit, and is probably something they should look into… later, after lots of sex.   


“Just one more thing.” Cas slowly approaches Gabriel and embraces him, lips gently brushing Gabriel’s ear. “If you ever hurt Sam… or Dean…”   


He finishes his threat in a breathless whisper that makes Gabriel gulp, shudder, and then nod. Vigorously. “Right, we’re on the same page,” Gabriel hastens to agree.   


“Good. Let’s go then…”   


Gabriel lifts his hand, about to snap his fingers—   


Castiel gently pulls his wrist down. “Don’t… do that anymore.”   


He pouts. “Cas. It’s my trademark… It’s showmanship!”   


“It’s unnecessary and annoying.”   


Shoulders slumping, Gabriel groans. “Fiiiine. I want to get back to Sam now, okay?”   


Castiel nods.   


_Hey, Cas?_ Gabriel calls as they sweep up the Impala and begin to fly through the folds of space and time.   


_Yes?_   


_When did you get so bad-ass?_   


_...Dean’s been giving me lessons._   


  


  


  


**~The End~**   


_“Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”_ ~Mahatma Gandhi


End file.
